


Butter Outta Cream

by ShowMeAHero



Series: Easy To Begin, But Hard To End [5]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Brotps, Enjolras Weasley over here, Everyone is just really sad, Friendship, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Some Descriptions of Violence, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Talk of Suicide, and they want to help, but Enjolras has the emotional range of a teaspoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 00:50:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire left that morning for milk and his theology class. When he's still not back by nightfall, they know something's wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butter Outta Cream

**Author's Note:**

> The title, which some of you might have recognized, comes from the quote from "Catch Me If You Can" which says "Two little mice fell in a bucket of cream. The first mouse quickly gave up and drowned. The second mouse, wouldn't quit. He struggled so hard that eventually he churned that cream into butter and crawled out. Gentlemen, as of this moment, I am that second mouse." Also, "Butter Outta Cream" (from the "Catch Me If You Can" musical) was playing when I was trying to come up with a title. It works well enough.
> 
> This takes place towards the end of their sophomore year at university.  
> (May 29th, 2013)

Grantaire has a haunted look in his eye; there is a shadow that is always there, but is often missed, drowned as it is in bright smiles and the cloud of alcoholism. It goes unnoticed by his friends for the most part. They occasionally think they have seen something, and they do a double-take, only to find that the look has been covered with some new mask, and they let it slide. Perhaps the problem is constantly letting it all slide.

Enjolras is just as guilty of this as the rest of them. To him, it is easier to ignore the problems of those around him. His nature is not that of a person who is very sympathetic or empathetic; he cannot help it, and he sometimes wishes he could change it, but that is just how he is. He finds it easier if, when he sees the black look pass through Grantaire’s expression, he just changes the subject. His way of helping is by trying to distract, and he thinks that works just fine. Until, of course, the day it does not.

Grantaire had left Enjolras’ apartment early that morning for classes and grocery shopping and other such things; Enjolras had not had any coffee yet when Grantaire had left, and all the words blend together that earlier in the morning. When it was eleven at night and Grantaire still had not returned, but all of his friends had arrived in his flat - as per usual - Enjolras was a bit concerned.

“Should we go out and look for him?” Eponine asked, pulling anxiously at the hem of her shirt with her hands. They are all arranged in the living room in their usual seats, but Enjolras is standing behind the sofa, his palms flat against the top of the cushions. His head was bowed.

“Maybe he just needed a day.” Combeferre offered. Bahorel nodded.

“He has done this before.” Bahorel reminded them all. This comment was just met with mutters of less-than-enthusiastic agreement.

“I still think we should go out and look for him.” Jehan spoke up over the mutters. He was met with more enthusiastic noises of agreement this time.

“What if he’s hurt?” Joly said worriedly, wringing his hands. Enjolras raised his head to meet Joly’s eyes; the latter nodded once, and Enjolras crossed the room in three steps. He yanked his coat off the coat rack, and the others jumped up eagerly to follow suit, grabbing coats and shoes and car keys.

“What if he’s drunk?” Marius said quietly to Feuilly. Everybody heard, but Feuilly was not the one who answered; instead, Eponine did for him.

“Then we bring him home all the same, Marius.” Eponine replied, a slight edge to her voice. Marius dropped his eyes down, but everyone knew they were thinking the same thing.

They all piled into Courfeyrac’s truck, with Courfeyrac in the driver’s seat, Enjolras and Eponine sharing the passenger seat, Combeferre, Jehan, Joly, and Bahorel crammed in the back seat, and Feuilly and Bossuet shoved in the trunk with Marius and Cosette. They peered out windows and searched as well as they could in the darkness, first flying through the lit districts and then the side streets. Enjolras and Eponine quickly grew anxious, and it was not long before Courfeyrac pulled over in the parking lot of a random bar and they emptied out of his truck in favor of searching on foot.

The eleven of them spread out, not straying too far, but covering the widest area they could for their search. Cosette, and Marius made up one group, and they scanned through the row of clubs and bars that they knew Grantaire to have been in previously; Joly and Bahorel went through the opposite half of the bars, the ones Grantaire had made no mention of, just in case; Bossuet and Jehan searched through the side streets right off the thriving district they frequented; Courfeyrac and Eponine searched through the alleys and the backs of the buildings; Feuilly and Combeferre jogged down to the campus at the end of the district to search the grounds; Enjolras went through the rows of drugstores and convenience stores near the campus. They kept their phones up incredibly loud, in case someone called with news. Soon, Enjolras’ phone was piercing the air, and he answered it quickly, ignoring the dirty look he got from the cashier due to the startling noise.

“Did you find him?” Enjolras demanded at once, not even sure who was calling. He pulled the phone back to check the caller ID, and found a photo of Courfeyrac’s grinning face looking back at him.

“Yeah, Courfeyrac’s got him now. I don’t think he’s drunk, but something’s definitely wrong. He’s not really responding much.” Eponine’s voice was shaky and high through the phone.

“Calm down, Eponine, alright? I’ll call Joly. Where are you?” Enjolras asked, flying from the building and out onto the sidewalk with quick, jerky motions, even though he did not yet know where to go.

“About four buildings down from the Musain.” Eponine told him. “Behind it. He’s in bad shape, Enjolras, I don’t-” Courfeyrac started saying something that Enjolras could not make out, and Eponine stopped talking into the phone so that she could listen. Enjolras was sprinting now towards the location Eponine had given him; the Musain was familiar, a cafe/bar that was halfway between campus and the downtown districts. He was only a couple of minutes away by foot.

“What is it? What’s he saying?” Enjolras asked sharply, bringing Eponine’s attention back to him once the low, indecipherable tones of Courfeyrac’s voice had disappeared. Eponine sounded like she was crying. She asked something, but Enjolras could hardly make it out. “What did you say?”

There was static as the phone passed hands, and, suddenly, Courfeyrac’s voice was in Enjolras’ ear. “Hey, I'll call Joly right now, alright? You know where we are?”

“Four buildings down from the Musain.” Enjolras repeated; the Musain was in his sights now, and his running speed increased.

“I’ll flash my phone so you can see us. It’s dark down here.” With that, Courfeyrac hung up, and Enjolras shoved his phone in his pocket. He skid into a running turn down an alley and, once he was behind the Musain, looked left and right before seeing, to the left, a flashing light. He ran to it as quickly as he could manage, and reached them in a time he had not thought possible, falling to his knees beside Eponine on the dirty, gravelly ground. Courfeyrac was talking into his phone, likely to Joly, and his free hand was flying and cutting through the air like a knife as he spoke.

Grantaire was sitting up against the back wall of the filthy brick building they were behind, but it looked as though he had been moved. His eyes were closed, but, now and then, they flickered open and whirled around. His clothes were mostly either ripped from his body or torn and still hanging from his frame. His skin was stained with purple and black bruises, and broken in more than one place; the reds of his blood mixed grotesquely with the blacks of the dirt he was smeared with from the ground below. His face was a mess, and Enjolras was immediately pressing a hand against Grantaire’s neck.

“Was he awake when you got here?” Enjolras asked Eponine, who had whipped herself into hysteria since her phone call with him. She shook her head vigorously.

“He was like this, but he was laying over there.” Eponine pointed to the short stone wall that sat behind them, a border to the thin river that flowed behind the buildings. “He was all curled up on himself. Courfeyrac dragged him over here.” Eponine had a dirty hand pressed to her mouth, trying to keep herself calm. She was so far unsuccessful.

“He has a pulse.” Enjolras said with only a slight bit of confidence, withdrawing his hand and turning to Eponine. “Listen, you need to calm down and call the others, okay? Tell them where we are. Can you do that?”

Eponine drew in a deep breath and nodded, pulling her phone from the pocket of her jacket and stepping away from Enjolras and Grantaire, towards the river. Courfeyrac appeared next to Enjolras then, kneeling beside him.

“Joly is hurrying. He might just be running as fast as you.” Courfeyrac leaned in and sniffed at Grantaire’s face. “He doesn’t smell like alcohol. What the hell happened to him?”

“I have no goddamned idea.” Enjolras spat, his hurricane of emotions choosing to identify itself simply as the easy-to-understand rage. “What the fuck was he thinking?”

“If he got jumped, Enjolras, it’s not his fault.” Courfeyrac reminded him. Enjolras just stood up and away from Grantaire, shoving his hands through his hair before turning back around and punching the bricks of the back wall.

“I know it’s not his fault.” Enjolras murmured, pulling his hand back to his side and wiping the blood off of one of his knuckles onto the shoulder of his jacket. “Where in God’s name is Joly?”

“Right here, I’m sorry, I’m right here.” Joly appeared then, breathless and red-faced. He fell to his knees in front of Grantaire immediately, and Bahorel followed shortly behind him, breathing heavily. He leaned against the wall for a moment before pulling himself over to Joly.

“God, he looks awful.” Bahorel said quietly. Eponine started crying again into the phone; Courfeyrac got up and went to take over for her. Bahorel opened his arms, and Eponine fell against him, crying harder now that she was safe with him.

Joly pried Grantaire’s eyelids open and was performing the sort of vital tests that Enjolras just did not understand enough of for this kind of thing. He stood again and adjusted his jacket, moving towards the river so he would not see Grantaire at all. He heard vaguely as the others arrived two-by-two, exclaiming and muttering in turn, a couple of people crying, a few comforting words, and a lot of silence. It was during this silence that a pair of arms wrapped around his waist; he raised his arms and looked down in surprise to find Cosette hugging him from the side.

“You’re crying.” Cosette said softly, not even lifting her head to look at his face. Enjolras touched his face, surprised to find his cheeks half-hot, half-cold, and definitely wet. He wiped furiously at his face with the back of his sleeve. Cosette’s grip on him tightened; he hesitated a moment before wrapping his arms around her in return. “He’s going to be alright.”

“We’ve got to get him to a hospital. He might have damaged something inside.” Joly said, standing up. Enjolras moved away from Cosette so quickly that she stumbled a bit, and he grabbed Joly’s arm.

“We can’t, Joly. He’s got no health insurance or any of that, and they’ll call his parents.” Enjolras reminded him. Joly looked genuinely angry.

“Do you want him to die? ‘Cause he will!” Joly jabbed a finger towards where Grantaire was being examined by Combeferre and a frightened-looking Marius. “He could die, Enjolras, and I am not going to let that happen!”

“Can’t you do anything here?” Eponine demanded, appearing beside Enjolras, his face contorted with the stress of the argument. “Enjolras is right, we can’t-”

“We have to-” Joly began, but Eponine cut him off furiously.

“Can you check and see if he’s alright? Internally, I mean.” Eponine’s voice was not loud, but it was aggressive and almost over the edge. Joly seemed to be in the same place as her, mentally.

“Damnit, Enjolras! I’m a medical student, I’m not a doctor yet.” Joly looked dangerous close to just knocking Enjolras out and doing what he needed to do; Enjolras looked dangerously close to fighting back. Their attentions all snapped away from each other and towards Grantaire when the unconsciousness man groaned low in his throat.

“What the hell?” Grantaire moaned, opening his eyes and blinking repeatedly. Joly was kneeling at his side before Enjolras could even exhale.

“Don’t move, alright? I’m going to get you to a hospital.” Joly told him, his voice even and calm as he spoke. Grantaire immediately looked panicked and tried to stand, despite Joly’s instructions.

“I can’t-” Grantaire’s head fell to the side, and the first person he laid eyes on was Combeferre. “Listen, don’t let him- I can’t-”

“You have to.” Joly said firmly. Grantaire’s eyes closed for a long second in an extended blink before he opened them again.

“Please don’t.” Grantaire’s words were slurring together. Joly looked angry again.

“I’m going to. I’m not letting you die because you’re stubborn.” Joly snapped. Grantaire looked surprised, but he reached out blindly and reached Joly’s hand. Enjolras swallowed, wishing he could get closer; everyone else was hanging back, just like him, but Grantaire seemed to have only found Joly and Combeferre. It had even seemed like he had forgotten Combeferre.

“Am I going to die, Joly?” Grantaire asked softly. Joly was quiet for a long moment; he looked down at Grantaire’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it, leaving a relatively clean trail behind.

“Not on my watch.” Joly eventually replied. Grantaire smiled, closing his eyes again and letting his head lean back against the bricks.

“I love you guys.” Grantaire mumbled. His words were slurring even more now, becoming almost mush the second they left his mouth.

“Stop that.” Eponine said tearfully, falling away from Bahorel to kneel beside Grantaire. “Don’t... Grantaire, stop.”

“No, come on, ‘Ponine, I’ll be fine.” Grantaire pulled his hand away from Joly and slapped blindly at the air until he found Eponine’s hair; his eyes remained closed. “I’m just saying, y’know?”

“I know.” Eponine whispered. Cosette had a hand pressed against her eyes, and her face was turned down; Marius was almost wrapped around her in an effort to comfort her.

“I love you. All of you. Tell ‘em.” Grantaire murmured. Eponine nodded. “Tell Enjolras. I don’t think he really knows.”

“You tell him you love him all the time.” Eponine reminded him, laughing slightly through her tears. The rest of the group turned to look at Enjolras, who steadily ignored their eyes and remained focused on Grantaire.

“That’s different.” Grantaire even smiled a little bit.

“I’m right here, Grantaire.” Enjolras spoke up finally, and he knelt beside Grantaire, taking his hands into his own. Eponine backed off a little bit; Joly had stood up a minute earlier and was currently on the phone with emergency services. “Love you, too.”

“You moron.” Grantaire laughed, his voice weak and his eyes closed. Enjolras bent his head down and pressed his forehead to Grantaire’s hands in his. The sirens came a minute later. Joly would later tell them it was almost a minute too late.

* * *

When Grantaire came back to himself, everything was remarkably quiet and painless. He felt almost as though his mind was a fluffy summer cloud, light and white; he felt peaceful. He sighed and let his eyes come open; he was met by a calm room, the walls the closest a blue can get to white, with a few pieces of furniture, a bright window through which sunlight was trickling, and two sleeping friends.

“Goddamnit, you guys put me in the damn hospital anyways!” Grantaire exclaimed, looking down at himself to discover his skin nearly invisible to him, covered in bandages as it was. Joly, asleep in a chair on Grantaire’s left side, blinked awake at his loud words and looked intensely relieved.

“Oh, you’re awake.” Joly sighed, his hand flying to Grantaire’s neck, then his forehead. “We were so worried.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easy.” Grantaire looked over to his other side and discovered another sleeping student in the form of Enjolras. The blonde had his knees spread apart, his arms crossed, and his head tipped back slightly as he slept in the stiff round armchair on Grantaire’s right. “Is everyone else at their places?”

“They’re all back at Enjolras’, actually.” Joly informed him. He motioned towards Enjolras with his head. “He insisted on staying with me.”

“Why’d you stay?” Grantaire asked. Joly patted his hand.

“This is my hospital. And you’re my friend. Of course I’m going to stay.” Joly offered him a smile. Grantaire laughed.

“My stupidity isn’t catching?” Grantaire asked. Joly raised an eyebrow.

“Already time for jokes, is it, then?” Joly tipped his head back to read the neon numbers and signs on the TV screen beside Grantaire’s bed. One of the cords leading from the TV ran back to Grantaire; he tried not to think about it too much.

“If I don’t laugh, Joly, I’ll cry.” Grantaire let his head fall back against the pillow as he closed his eyes. “I honestly will. You don’t want to see that. It’s a nasty affair. Where are my parents, by the way? Surely they've been called."

“I have been assured that they weren’t, nor will they be. Bahorel is not as useless with law as he seems, and he was able to get your next of kin changed to Enjolras.” Joly informed him. Grantaire looked intensely relieved.

“Oh, good. We don’t need them knowing just how much I fucked up this time.” Grantaire smiled at Joly as he relaxed against the hospital bed.

“What happened, Grantaire?” Joly asked suddenly, no trace of a joking attitude on his face. Grantaire’s light-hearted smile immediately fell, and his eyes opened. His gaze shot to Enjolras immediately before coming back to settle on Joly.

“I said some things that some people didn’t take too kindly to.” Grantaire shrugged; a dull ache throbbed somewhere in his chest when he made the motion.

“Are you crazy? No, scratch that, are you _suicidal_? You just went out looking for a fight?” Joly asked, his voice rising. Grantaire shushed him, his eyes falling on Enjolras again; the blonde was still sleeping in the same position.

“Yes, yes, and, only kind of, I suppose.” Grantaire tore his gaze from Enjolras so that he could speak directly to Joly. “I went out for some milk and a theology class that I’m only barely taking, and I kind of ended up finding a fight instead. I don’t even know where that milk got to...”

“Suicidal.” Joly repeated. His mouth fixed into a sympathetic line. Grantaire desperately wanted to go back to sleep. “You’re suicidal.”

Enjolras stirred then, his eyes opening wide at the words that had just come out of Joly and Grantaire’s mouths. “What?”

“Your damn boyfriend is suicidal, is what.” Joly muttered, rubbing at his brow with his fingertips. Enjolras’ expression, though he was still partially asleep and had only just woken up, quickly morphed into a blank mask.

“He’s not- I didn’t mean that, Enjolr-” Grantaire was cut off by Enjolras raising a hand.

“I’m just happy you’re alive right now.” Enjolras told him, his voice all low, serious tones. Grantaire knew it was a wildly inappropriate time, but he found himself relaxing in the familiar sounds of Enjolras’ voice, in the blue of his eyes, in the wild blonde of his hair, in the careful construction of his handsome face. He relaxed significantly, reaching out and letting Enjolras take his right hand.

“You’re happy.” Grantaire sighed, feeling himself falling back asleep already. Enjolras nodded.

“Very happy. We’ll talk more later, alright?” Enjolras said, his voice soothing. Joly looked a bit put-out, but Grantaire seemed content, and that was what Enjolras was aiming for.

“Alright.” Grantaire agreed easily, closing his eyes and falling back asleep in a matter of moments. Joly looked at Enjolras over Grantaire’s sleeping form, expecting to meet Enjolras’ eyes as he did so. Instead, he was met with the side of Enjolras’ face as the blonde continued staring straight ahead at Grantaire, as though the dark-haired man might disappear if he took his eyes off him for a second.

“If he’s suicidal, he’ll need help.” Joly said eventually. Enjolras nodded, a slight incline of his head; his eyes remained fixed on Grantaire.

“We’ll cross the bridge when we come to it.” Enjolras told him quietly. Joly waited for him to speak again but, when no words came, he got up and left to find a nurse.

* * *

“You’re looking better every day, I’m telling you!” Bossuet insisted as he helped Grantaire heave himself up from the kitchen chair so that they could follow their friends into the living room after dinner. “You look... beautiful, and pretty-”

“Why don’t you leave the poetry to me, huh, sweetheart?” Jehan suggested lightly as he passed. He winked at Grantaire and continued on his way, tossing adjectives over his shoulder as he went. “Radiant, lively, astounding...”

“All those and more.” Bahorel assured him, patting Grantaire on the back. Bossuet finally got Grantaire to the living room and helped him down gingerly onto the sofa beside Enjolras, their armchairs having already been occupied by Eponine and Courfeyrac. Enjolras wound his arm around Grantaire and kissed his temple quietly. Grantaire settled into his embrace and the sofa cushions. The rest of the group organized themselves around him, on the floor and perched on the arms of the sofa, not quite touching him, save for Enjolras.

“What’s this?” Grantaire asked, though he thought that he knew exactly what “this” was. Eponine fiddled with her thumbs.

“We have to talk about... this. This thing you’ve got going on.” Joly said, his face looking worried but his voice sounding firm. Enjolras sat back slightly.

“I don’t have a _thing_ going on. We’ve already done this. I’m trying to stop drinking, you know that, it’s just hard.” Grantaire argued, frowning at them. Cosette’s face took on a pitying expression.

“This is not about your drinking. This is about your sense of self-preservation.” Cosette explained.

“Or lack thereof.” Marius interjected. Bossuet rolled his eyes.

“It’s _Grantaire_ , guys. You don’t have to beat around the bush. Joly and I have a date with Musichetta tomorrow, I’d like this to be over by then.” Bossuet looked up to Grantaire from his vantage point on the floor. “Joly says you told him you’re suicidal. Why?”

Grantaire hesitated; this topic gave him pause, he had not been expecting it. He was unaware he had even said that to Joly. “When did I say that?”

“First time you woke up in the hospital.” Enjolras said quietly. Grantaire looked over at him, surprised.

“You were there?” Grantaire asked, his face creased with worry for the expression on Enjolras’ face. The blonde met his eyes, his chin raised.

“Yes, I was, and I’m still angry.” Enjolras shifted away from Grantaire so that he could turn his body and face him; he tucked his legs up under his body and locked eyes with Grantaire. “How could you... Grantaire, trying to get yourself killed... it was _selfish_. I’m sorry, but it was.”

Grantaire glared up at him, his head bowed down slightly. “How could you-”

“Because I’m the one you’re leaving behind.” Enjolras snapped, cutting him off. “You think I don’t care? You, what, you think I wouldn’t care?”

“Well,  I'm nothing to fight for, Enjolras. I’m no demonstration, or a protest. I’m no debate.” Grantaire fought back, raising his head up to look Enjolras right in the eye. “I’m not any of these things you so readily offer yourself to, so why would I make that assumption? Why would I assume you would be unprepared to handle me not being here? I’m barely here in the first place.”

“Every day with you is a fight, Grantaire, and I don’t regret a moment of it.” Enjolras’ face and voice softened together; his shoulders slumped very slightly, and, if Grantaire had not been watching him so closely, he would not have noticed. “Anyways, ignoring all of that for the moment, - and it’s all very wrong, by the way - you’ll realize I’m not the only one you’d be leaving behind.”

“You’d be leaving us behind, too.” Eponine said, her voice quiet. Grantaire’s head turned to meet her eyes; she was folded up in the armchair that Courfeyrac was not in, with Courfeyrac’s arm around her shoulders. “We just need to... We want to help. You’re our friend.”

“You put up with me, and don’t say you don’t. I’m here because of Enjolras, not because I support these insane causes you all fight for, and we all know it.” Grantaire reminded them. Eponine’s gaze fell to her hands. “I am more of a hassle here than I am a help.”

“We want you to be here. We don’t care how you came, because we don’t keep you around for protests or debates. If we were, you wouldn’t be here any more, let’s be honest.” Bahorel told him, grinning. “We keep you around because, cynical and drunk and constantly hungry as you are, you’re our friend.”

There were many noises of assent, and Grantaire ran a hand through his hair. “I guess...”

“...You guess it makes sense? Because it does.” Bahorel finished for him. Grantaire smiled at him.

“So, what can we do?” Marius asked, seeming eager to help in some way, as he so often was. Cosette cocked her head to the side, a perfect image of a blonde cat looking at Grantaire helpfully.

“You don’t have to do anything. I do.” Grantaire looked up at Enjolras and, though he was speaking to the whole room, he was also speaking directly to Enjolras. “This won’t happen again.”

“It better not.” Joly muttered. Everyone looked at him; Enjolras raised an eyebrow. Joly looked unashamed. “I’m serious, asshole. I’m keeping an eye on you from now on, I hope you know that.”

“This whole thing has changed Joly. I’m not so sure for the better.” Bossuet laughed. Joly shoved him on the carpet, but Bossuet fought back, and the two were soon wrestling on the floor. Combeferre looked excited and immediately began refereeing. Marius and Courfeyrac, after giving Grantaire sympathetic smiles, began placing and taking bets on who would win; Jehan and Feuilly handed over ten dollars each and watched with avid enthusiasm, cheering on their friends. Cosette came over, pressed a kiss to the top of Grantaire’s head, and wandered off into the kitchen. Eponine stayed in her chair, blew a kiss to Grantaire, and put twenty dollars on Bossuet. Enjolras leaned back, laid an arm across the back of the sofa, and crossed his left leg over his right.

“I love you, you know.” Enjolras said casually. He tossed his head to the side, letting it rest against the sofa cushion as he smiled at Grantaire. The dark-haired man shifted closer, turning his head, too, as he reached up to touch Enjolras’ cheek. He stayed still for a moment, as though making sure that Enjolras was actually there. Once he seemed reassured, his hand slid down to Enjolras’ jaw, and he dragged them together; he kissed him and inhaled all at once, and the effect it had on him was immediate and overwhelming. He sighed against Enjolras’ lips, and the blonde laughed, a rare sound that charmed Grantaire’s ears and heart every time he heard it.

“I know.” Grantaire replied, grinning at Enjolras. Enjolras raised an eyebrow and lifted his head to press a kiss to Grantaire’s forehead.

“You damn well better.” Enjolras brushed his fingers against one of the dark bruises that led from right below Grantaire’s eye down to his shoulder. He looked distracted for a moment before a round of cheering startled him; Bossuet had been successful, and was currently being paraded around with a raised fist by Bahorel. Grantaire laughed deeply and stood up to clap Bossuet on the back. Enjolras relaxed against the cushions, letting himself forget himself for the moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Enjolras does not stay in character when he does not have a revolution to characterize him. All these idiots change because he does. Augh. I also wrote and posted this one in a matter of hours, as I did with the last one, just so you know. Any mistakes which I find while reading this later will be fixed once I get the chance.
> 
> Also, mad props if you caught the Star Trek reference.
> 
> You can follow me on Twitter at [@nicoIodeon](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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